Perkins’ self-titled debut is an enjoyable collection of 60’s/70’s stylings, set apart by oddball lyrics that could have sprung from a Coen brother’s character. The man has talent to burn. Perkins made the album alone, playing every instrument, singing and producing. As such, the album has that curious tugging quality shared by all such solo-crafted albums (think Stevie Wonder, Grant Hart, The Shins). The tracks often contain tiny snags, nothing so obvious as wrong notes, just tiny off moments that tug at the fabric of the songs. (This quality can also be found in unedited works of prose — my own included).
